


Discarded Trash

by ScullyLovesQueequeg



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Complete, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyLovesQueequeg/pseuds/ScullyLovesQueequeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt was, "Write a story about a misunderstanding, with anyone as your main character. Include in your story, in any way: A letter being received, A red sweater, & getting lost."</p><p>Mulder receives a letter from his mother and reads it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discarded Trash

The thunder rumbling in the distance told him that it would be a better idea to stay indoors tonight. He heard the sound as he fumbled with his keys to get his door open. He’d been caught in the rain that started to fall, but being that it was only a light drizzle, his long trench coat was not so wet. Once the door was open, he set the mail on the table, and went to hang his coat up. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft bubbling of the fish tank. 

When he wandered back to the table, Mulder found himself frowning as he sorted through the mail he’d left there, and paused when he beheld a letter that had in small, neat print, ‘Fox Mulder’. His fingers trembled as he looked the envelope over; the handwriting belonged to his mother, who had recently passed. 

He fumbled with the envelope, struggling to open the flaps, before he was able to get to the actual letter itself and a photograph that fluttered slowly to the table as his eyes scanned the handwritten papers inside.

> **Dear Fox,**  
>   
>  **When you get this letter, I will be dead. I am writing this letter to you because I feel that you deserve some closure about what happened. I know you are a busy man, and I do not hold it against you that we could not talk one last time, but I wish we had. These are things I should be telling you to your face, or at least by voice, so that you can tell how much it hurts me to have to tell you what happened and why I had to do this.**  
>   
>  **I was diagnosed with a fatal degenerative disease a couple of months back. I was not familiar with it, and so I took a trip to the library and when I read about the disease, I was filled with fear and dread. I debated with myself about telling you, but you have been busy with your work, and were sick in the hospital for a while, so I did not want to bother you. I hope you can forgive me for not telling you.**  
>   
>  **For the first couple of weeks, I managed to control the pain, but the pain and complications with the disease combined became too much for me to handle, and the investigation you were on brought back memories I would rather forget, and so I decided to take matters into my own hands and end my own life.**  
>   
>  **I am sorry Fox. Not just for leaving you, but for not being around as much as I could. I always believed that Samantha’s abduction affected you the hardest, and as you grew older and more withdrawn, I feared for your health. Your father and I worried about you constantly and only wanted the best for you. I am sorry that our relationship with each other carried over into how I treated you. You deserved better than what I could give, and I hope that you find that in someone else.**  
>   
>  **There is a memory that comes to mind of when you were a child, before Samantha was born. You were very young and you and I had gone out shopping. You insisted on not holding my hand, and so we walked side by side. You were in a small, hand knitted red sweater your grandmother made for you, and it was your favorite at the time. You walked ahead of me, proudly, and got carried away because you walked too far when I stopped to look at something and when I looked back, you were gone.**
> 
> **I can clearly remember the fear I felt when you were missing. It was a chilling sort of panic that gripped me in my throat and I felt as though I could not breathe. Everything inside me ached, and I worried that I had lost my little boy for good. I started to walk around the store, calling your name, but you did not respond. When I found you, you were playing with a toy rocket ship, and sitting by yourself. I scooped you up into my arms and held you close. I wanted to yell, but I did not.**
> 
> **I also remember how much pain I went through giving birth to you and how bitter I was about having you. I am sure you have already figured out by now that your father, William Mulder, the man raised you, is not your real father. You were not a mistake, but a product of love, however twisted it might have been. My dearest Fox, I would be lying if I said that I have always loved you because there was a time when I did not, but I love you now, and I loved you when I lost you in the store, and I loved you when you came home from the hospital. When your father found out you were not his he did not stop loving you, either. We have have loved you Fox but I am sorry it could not have been in a more proactive way.**
> 
> **When you finish reading this, I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I was not the best mother to you, and I feel as though there were many times where we could have worked towards fixing that. I am sorry for leaving you with so many unanswered questions. I hope that in time, you will come to find the answers not just in others, but in yourself, too. Your father was very proud of you, even though he did not say it and I am too. You will always be my little boy. Be strong and take care.**
> 
> **Love,**
> 
> **Teena Mulder**

When he was finally done with the letter, he let the stationary fall from his hands and flutter to the ground, before collapsing into a chair nearby. He was numb; the emotional attachment he had to his mother, who was the last remaining tether to his past, was severed forcefully from him a couple of days prior, and the trauma of having had lost her was still raw. He had distanced himself from his partner, and all the other people who tossed him an empty set of condolences. He hadn’t even bothered turning up at the funeral, and it was just as well that he hadn’t because the amount of people who had would have just exacerbated the problem he had in not being able to express how he felt at his mother’s sudden departure.

It was just then, as he sat there mustering up the energy to get up again and change out of his clothes, that he spotted the photograph on the table. He considered it for a moment before picking it up and looking it over. Immediately, he regret this decision, but continued to reflect on it. It was a family portrait of Mulder, his mother, his father, his sister and the family dog. The picture was dated, and frequently regarded because it was creased, and well worn, perhaps from being used a a book mark. He could not tell. He turned the photo over and saw a date scribbled in his mother’s hand. With a sigh, he also tossed the photo aside, and headed to his living room, leaving the letter and the photo on the floor, like discarded trash.


End file.
